Gospel Story Finder

One of the choice privileges of a General Authority is perhaps thirty or forty times a year to visit the stakes of the Church and to be guests in the homes of stake presidents. I am certain we have seen firsthand some of the greatest homes there are in all the world.
I remember being assigned to a conference some time ago in a stake where the president was a dentist. It was evident from his home and furnishings he had a successful practice. I guess he could have given his children almost anything they could have wanted. However, he loved them enough to teach them responsibility. He moved from the city out into a rural area, where he was teaching his family the value of work.
How I enjoyed sitting with the children and having them describe the projects they had been assigned the responsibility for. With pride they would tell me how many eggs per day the chickens were producing, or how high the corn was, or how the cattle were in the field. This family had as their motto the 88th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, 119th verse: “Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God.”

One example I will never forget was when Elder Richard G. Scott and I were with him on assignment to the Pacific Northwest. We were scheduled to meet with a large group of priesthood leaders. We left our hotel and went to the meeting. President Monson arrived just in time to give his final message. We wondered if he had been ill. Checking with security, we found that he had become aware that a young mother of five small children was dying of cancer. He had called her and met with her, her husband, and the five children. He ministered to them and gave each a blessing. President Monson’s personal example may have been even more important than what he taught in sermons in greatly enhancing the spiritual concept of ministering and going to the rescue.

May I share with you one of my holy places? Once, I was feeling overwhelmed, fearful, and completely alone. Silently, I prayed: “Heavenly Father, I do not know how to do this. Please, please, help me!” Soon, an individual unexpectedly came forward, placed a hand on my shoulder, and offered sincere, encouraging words. In that moment, I felt peace. I felt acknowledged. Everything had changed. The words of President Spencer W. Kimball came to mind: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs.”11 For me, that moment, that place, had become holy.

Elder Perry: We should never forget the value of partaking of the sacrament. I recall another experience I had in the military. I was part of a group that was able to stay together for a time. We held sacrament meeting every Sunday I was in the service. Sometimes the water came from a canteen cup and the bread was a biscuit from our K rations, but we partook of the sacrament. Friends who were separated from us, who did not have the opportunity to take the sacrament for a long time, seemed to be not as sure in their faith because of it.

Many years ago it was my privilege to provide a blessing to a beautiful 12-year-old young lady, Jami Palmer. She had just been diagnosed with cancer. She learned that her leg where the cancer was would require multiple surgeries. A long-planned hike with her Young Women class up a rugged trail was out of the question, she thought.
Jami told her friends they would have to hike without her. I’m confident there was disappointment in her heart.
But then the other young women responded emphatically, “No, Jami, you are going with us!”
“But I can’t walk,” came the reply.
“Then we’ll carry you to the top!” And they did.
None of those precious young women will ever forget that memorable day when a loving Heavenly Father looked down with a smile of approval and was well pleased.

What about the kindness we show to our own family members? The most important and sometimes the most difficult place to show kindness is in our own homes, to our parents and to our brothers and sisters. When our son Mitch was 10 years old, he wanted to help our family, especially if he could make it fun. When no one was looking, he put a bell on a string around his neck and pretended to be a bellboy as he helped with family jobs. When family members noticed things were done, he would just say, “It must be the bellboy.” Mitch was a great help to us and also brought fun and delight to our family.

The family finally arrived at the refugee camp in Batdambang, but because it was located in Cambodia, Brother Thach requested that they be transferred to safer refuge at Panat Nikom, Thailand, where they arrived in May, two months after leaving Vietnam. From Thailand, they relocated to the United States where Minhdan Thach was baptized. She now serves as a Relief Society counselor in the Taylorsville 40th (Vietnamese) Branch, Taylorsville Utah Central Stake. Brother Thach, second counselor in the branch elders quorum presidency, is now an electronic test technician with a national engineering and research company with a manufacturing plant and offices in Utah.

Gordon’s mother told him if he would finish his chores, she would make him a pie. His favorite kind. Just for him. Gordon went to work on getting those chores done, and his mother rolled out the pie. His older sister Kathy came into the house with a friend. She saw the pie and asked if she and her friend could have a slice.
“No,” said Gordon, “it’s my pie. Mom baked it for me, and I had to earn it.”
Kathy snapped at her little brother. He was so self-centered and ungenerous. How could he keep this all to himself?
Hours later when Kathy opened the car door to take her friend home, there on the seat were two napkins folded nicely, two forks set on top, and two wide pieces of pie on plates. Kathy told this story at Gordon’s funeral to show how he was willing to change and show kindness to those who didn’t always deserve it.

Recently I talked to a sister who was in the psychiatric unit of a local hospital. She shared with me her sorrowful journey from complete mental and physical health, a wonderful marriage and family, into mental illness, debilitating health, and the breakup of her family—all of which started with the abuse of prescription painkillers.
Two years prior to our conversation, she hurt her back in a car accident. Her doctor prescribed a medication to relieve the almost unbearable pain. She thought she needed something more, so she forged prescriptions and finally resorted to buying heroin. This led to her arrest and incarceration. Her obsession with drugs caused her marriage to fail. Her husband divorced her and retained custody of the children. She told me that besides helping to dull her pain, the drugs also provided a short-term but heightened sense of euphoria and well-being. But each dosage of drugs lasted only a few hours, and with each use the duration of relief seemed to lessen. She began to take more and more of the drugs and got caught up in the vicious cycle of addiction. Drugs became her life. The night before I talked with her, she tried to commit suicide. She said she could no longer deal with the physical, emotional, and spiritual pain. She felt trapped with no way out—with no hope.

Of particular value to me personally was the chance to visit the Temple. I recognize that it can be difficult for some to visit the temple when struggling with depression or other conditions that make it difficult to feel the spirit, and I have felt that, but at other times, the House of the Lord has been a true refuge to me and a place where the Lord could heal my heart, gradually, over time. It is the sort of place where we can not only get a glimpse of what is ahead of us, but also, in the Lord’s time, a broad view of the expanse of eternity, however short lived that can sometimes be. I have seen miracles in the temple that have let me know the Lord was there and cared for me at times when I most needed to know those two things. I believe that attending the temple when we can is a way of showing faith that can, when the Lord is ready, produce miracles. And this brings me to a last and important point that I want to make. While we all go through trials and we all face darkness, there are sometimes trials that need special care. It was in the Temple that I first got confirmation that one of the helps for me would be medication that could help me through the physical elements attached to my spiritual and emotional trials. I was very reluctant to approach that kind of help. I knew that darkness was something I would meet in my life, but I thought real faith should get me through it without other help. Even when the Lord confirmed to me in the temple that it would help, it was difficult for me to accept, though without that confirmation it would perhaps never have happened. Afterwards, this was more difficult because I didn’t find the medication that would help me the first time. Everyone is a bit different. Some of you may have difficulties thinking of talking to a counselor or even talking to a bishop about such things. There are many resources available for us in this time that have not been available in all times to combat some of the afflictions we might have to endure. Not all of them are for everyone. For some, only a good friend is needed to talk to, or a bishop, for others counselors or medication can help. As a good bishop once told me, whatever leads us towards the light is right. Let the Lord lead you where he will.

The second type of harmful guilt—feeling guilty for no apparent reason—frequently develops out of similar self-esteem problems caused by an individual’s inability to take charge of his life. I counseled with one such person, a forty-five-year-old successful business executive who really wanted to be working with young people instead. But he felt that he couldn’t ask his family to go through the lifestyle adjustment necessary for this kind of career change. He found himself avoiding work as much as possible because he disliked it, but he also found himself avoiding his family. This paralyzing ineffectiveness in both areas made him feel guilty.
The solution for both the sister and this brother was basically the same. They started making plans and carrying them through. As they saw that they could make decisions, their self-esteem rose, their guilt decreased, and they were able to see their guilt in perspective.

There is a story of a group of Relief Society sisters making candy called “divinity” at the home of one of the sisters. Two little boys in the family were allowed to eat all of the divinity they could scrape from the spoons, pans, and bowls. It was the weekend of general conference and, as the family listened to the talks one of the speakers said, “There is a spark of divinity in each of us.” One of the little boys jumped up and said, “A spark of divinity? Wow, I’m full of it!”

I have been a member of the Church for two years and have never before been so spiritually uplifted as I was this last weekend. Our Liverpool England Stake organized a youth conference. It was regional, and therefore youth from Preston and Manchester came. The activities were organized by the BYU dance team, that had just won the world formation dancing title. It was fantastic! There were about 200 youth present.
The New Era talked about youth conferences in the May FYI department and really captured what they are all about—good, clean, healthy fun, with an important spiritual message. During the conference the BYU group taught us some important gospel principles and some dance routines. I would especially like to thank a girl from Colorado named Martha, who displayed fantastic patience while teaching me to cha-cha.

That definition of endurance is the approach I took to completing my required statistics class. After a few classes, I realized that stats was not a course I would learn easily. I spent more time studying for that class than any other only to reap D's and F's on my quizzes and exams. It was frustrating and humiliating when I was used to getting A's and B's. When I considered dropping the class because of my poor grades, my friends reminded me it was a required class for my major, and unless I changed my major, I would have to still take the class again so why not "just get it over with", in other words endure to the end of the semester.
I murmured about my inability to understand the concepts of statistics to my friends and classmates in order to explain my low grades and, I guess, to get some sympathy. I convinced myself that if I could just pass the class, I would be happy. So I endured the class, did the probability exercises, and cringed each time I took a quiz or test, but I was determined NOT to retake that class. In the end, my endurance paid off. I was ecstatic when grades were posted and I passed my stats class with a D. Achieving a D in that class was like getting an A in my English 315 class. I had definitely endured the pains of statistics.

When Elder Gerrit W. Gong was a young man, he really wanted to play school basketball. “I practiced and practiced,” he said. “One day the coach pointed to our 6-foot-4-inch (1.93 m) all-state center and our 6-foot-2-inch (1.88 m) all-star forward and said to me, ‘I can put you on the team, but you’ll likely never play.’ I remember how kindly he then encouraged, ‘Why not try out for soccer? You’d be good.’ My family cheered when I scored my first goal.”1
Elder Gong learned that remembering the assistance of others helps us acknowledge the Savior’s hand in our lives and helps us remember that we are never alone.

Finances were tight for our young family in 1979. I was a student at Colorado State University. Meager funds from loans and my wife’s enterprises were deposited directly into a savings account. Then we would withdraw a budgeted amount every week for expenses. As Christmas approached we recognized that this holiday would be a frugal one.
One Friday evening we decided that I would take the two oldest of our four children to explore the excitement of the local shopping mall. En route we made our bank withdrawal, electing to withdraw the full December amount at the beginning of the month to cover the increased expenses of the holidays. I took the full amount in small bills.
Although no snow had fallen, the weather was cold and raw with an icy wind. Arriving at the crowded mall parking lot, I hurriedly extracted the boys from the van, eager to get inside the bright, warm mall.
For well over an hour we wandered from store to store, enjoying the rich sights and smells. At last we agreed to cap our outing with some ice cream. With shock, however, I immediately discovered that my shirt pocket was empty of its recent bulge of money.
I fought down a rising panic as we quickly retraced our steps. But with each negative response to our anxious inquiries about someone finding some money, our sense of loss increased. After making a last, futile stop at a security desk, we sadly returned home.
We related the bad news to my concerned wife. How could we buy food, pay the rent and utilities, and cover other expenses for the month, let alone provide a few extras for Christmas? The children began to softly cry and whisper among themselves. Somberly we gathered in family prayer to ask for guidance. Then, as we were discussing every possible but unlikely avenue to compensate for the loss, the phone rang.
It was the security guard at the mall. “Are you the people who recently reported the loss of some money?” he asked.
“Yes, we are,” I answered.
“How much was it, and in what denominations?”
After we gave him the information, he asked if we could return to the mall.
With guarded anticipation we made the short journey back. The security guard told us that several people had turned in numerous small bills found scattered by the wind in the parking lot. A count revealed the exact amount we had lost. There was no one to thank, for these honest souls left no names. The guard smiled and wished us a merry Christmas as he handed us the small stack of bills. Much relieved and profoundly grateful, we drove home.
We then knelt as a family and offered our thanks for the blessings given. Christmas was saved for our little family, and an eternal lesson was learned. These honest people were wonderful examples to us. What better way to give thanks to our Heavenly Father for the birth of His Son than by living the true spirit of Christmas?

Growing up, Sue was just part of the gang until the gang started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a different perspective than her friends.
“In my sophomore year, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but you can’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, no one is going to stick with you through this. You’re on your own.’”
That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to bring people up to a higher level. “Sue has always been a magnet towards the good. She has pulled up the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been affected.”

During the pandemic, as one of two people who can read my dad’s cryptic penmanship, I found time to transcribe my father’s journal that he kept during his freshman year at BYU. There was a particular entry that touched me that he wrote just a few weeks after buying the journal at the BYU Bookstore. After dealing with a tough situation that day, he wrote: “I was proud of my actions earlier tonight. It showed me how much I have changed since I came to the Y. I thank God again for the Y.”1

May I share a little background? I have been working on my father’s history since he passed from this mortal life almost twenty years ago. Getting to know my father by collecting his history and transcribing his writings has been inspiring. My dad set a goal when he was young to go to college and to serve a mission—both firsts for his family. Since his family lived under meager circumstances, he worked hard to be at the Y. Through diligence and hard work, by the end of his junior year in high school, he had saved up enough money for a few years at BYU and for his entire twenty-seven-month mission. Shortly thereafter, the local savings and loan in southern Idaho failed, leaving him with next to nothing. He did not give up, and he worked multiple jobs furiously on very few hours of sleep to try to replace what was lost. During that time, with many noted miracles, he was able to earn enough for a year at BYU and for his mission.

Because of the personal work and dedication that it took for him to come to BYU, he was so grateful for the opportunities this unique institution afforded him. Like President Russell M. Nelson, my dad recognized that “gratitude . . . provides us with a greater perspective on the very purpose and joy of life.”2 He recognized this early in his life, lived it, and taught it to his family. My father left BYU and became an influencer. Professionally, he touched lives by helping women through pregnancy and health challenges. He delivered babies. He inspired his children and grandchildren. He used his experience to touch lives for good. BYU’s unique, spiritually infused education gave my father and all of us the chance, the space, and the fuel to grow as disciples of Christ and children of God serving in this world. I also thank God for the Y.

Perhaps a simple story from the Compton family will help illustrate this point. When our most amazing, wonderful, and talented daughter, Marissa (I was required to use these adjective in order to tell this story) was 11 or 12, she came to me one evening and asked if she could have her ears pierced. The thought occurred to me that it would be unwise to answer her. Marissa was entering a period of adolescence, and it was important for her to grow more thoughtful about the influence that her peers and culture had on her. Having already traveled down that path some years previously, her mother and I knew the kind of growth and development that would be beneficial in Marissa's life at this time. As her anxious parent/teacher, I could have leapt forward with a detailed answer. Instead, I invited Marissa to try and answer her own question by giving it some additional thought. I challenged her to compose a thesis and prepare to defend it. A week or two later she retuned with her this that concluded that it was okay to have her ears pierced because of the human need for artistic expression and cultural experimentation. I remember commenting that her perspective positioned the body as a an artist's canvas and piercing ears was a way to paint. We had a lively discussion that extended to the appropriate number of ear piercings, tattooing, and other subjects. This process formed an invitation for Marissa to think through her question more thoroughly instead of relying on her father for answers to questions that she had not yet fully formed in her mind and heart. Think of what Marissa would have lost if I had simply answered her question and told her what to do. We would have missed the opportunity to have a rich conversation that was instrumental to our relationship and to her growth and development.

Anna Ruth’s dream of being a missionary to her friends continued to grow—unexpectedly.
“My friend Dawn had heard Diane and me talking about the Church, and mentioned one day that she might be interested, too,” said Anna Ruth. “It just thrilled me. Our stake girl’s conference was a week away, and one of the priesthood leaders in our ward said they had a special fund for someone to take a nonmember girl to it. So my mother helped arrange for Dawn to go. The conference was really inspiring, and Dawn told me that she wanted to be baptized. The next week she started the lessons, and a few weeks later she was baptized.”
And Anna Ruth found out that her dream didn’t end with Dawn’s baptism. “Right after Dawn was baptized, a friend of mine that I’ve known for years told me that she wanted to go to church with me on Sunday!”